


folie à deux

by rikkitikki



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Love Triangles, M/M, Slow Burn, everything is the same except they're in a city and there are cars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 04:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6223237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikkitikki/pseuds/rikkitikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Axton just wants to enjoy his dishonorable discharge and painful divorce in peace. Two Hyperion up-and-comers with eyes on the top taking an interest in him wasn't part of the plan, and neither was any of the scheming, sexing, or deal-stealing that came with them. They're both trying to play him for their own ends, neither of which are good, but maybe there's a way out of it that doesn't involve somebody ending up dead.</p><p>Or everybody ending up dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	folie à deux

Her name was Christine, and he loved her. She was sleek, with a body that could steal any man's breath, and her purr was pure sex. She brought men to tears and attracted women for miles. In fact, one might go so far as to say she was the envy of everyone who saw her.

She also had a great engine. God, he loved his car.

 _Maybe_ he was a little preoccupied with her. And, okay, _maybe_ he had a "fixation" on an inanimate object, even though he could read her moods just from the rumble of her engine. Maybe. But his classic car was primarily what filled his days with purpose, as sad as that actually was, and Axton was more than comfortable draining all the attention he didn't have to spend on the divorce on his car instead.

All of that is probably why he almost choked the new neighbor out in his underwear the very first day they met.

Of course the moving vans would come at eight in the morning. Axton managed thirty minutes of stubborn rolling around before the beeping and distant voices finally chased him out of bed, and the noise followed him all the way to the kitchen. The little two-story next door had lain empty for months - the neighborhood wasn't _bad,_ per se, just a little dicey at night, but it and the fact that the last owner had committed suicide there had been enough to keep people away. Someone must have come for the cheap rent. Must be a single mom or a desperate young professional.

"What do you think, Christine?" His window was open enough for him to pretend she could hear him while he made his coffee, dumping a packet of the cheap shit in with one of those little taste packets of the nicer stuff. He took a seat near the window. "My money's on a mom."

He didn't have to wait long to see. From the way the man strolled around examining things, directing furniture flow, Axton could guess that he was the new tenant - definitely wasn't a single mom, either. It was hard to see any real detail from a distance, but the man wore smart, well-trimmed clothes and had a great haircut. Definitely corporate.

"You win again, Christine."

She generally did. He watched the tenant freak out over one of the movers dropping a chair down the front stairs, waving his arms and shouting in a kind of small dog neurosis thing, and getting brushed past by basically everyone. Desperate young professional, definitely. Axton felt a pang of sympathy. The guy stormed off down the sidewalk, came back in his car, and Axton realized the tragedy that was about to happen. A van in front, Christine behind, and the kid would have to parallel park.

_Nobody parallel parks well._

What was he going to do, tell the kid he couldn't park? But _Christine._ Axton considered going down there and bodily putting himself between Christine and the kid's car, but the court-ordered therapist was already concerned about the car thing - another incident might put him on a radar he didn't want. He had to watch instead, forehead pressed against the glass as the kid drifted closer, slowly inching his way into the spot. It was going to be tight. Axton held his breath.

Halfway in, he tapped Christine's front bumper hard enough to make the car bounce. Axton was out the door in a second.

"Hey! _Hey!_ Yeah, you!" The kid had hung his head out the window, pointing questioningly at himself. "What the _hell,_ man?"

"What do you - what _what the hell?_ Listen, okay, just let me park and--"

"No." Axton trotted around to the other side, slipping between Christine and the car behind her to make his way to the guy's driver side window. "That's the _problem._ What do you think you're doing here?"

The man stared at him, uncomprehending. Axton mentally stumbled over his mismatched eyes and the glint of a metallic right arm. _Weird_ -looking, sure.

"Uh... parking?"

"You're bangin' up my friggin' car is what you're doing!"

"Did I really--" The guy looked back. "Are you sure?"

He backed up another inch, jarring Christine. Axton beat an uneven staccato on his windowsill, getting his attention again.

" _Yes._ Stop." Axton stood back, throwing another glance at the car. "Doing. That. _Stop it._ Are you _blind?_ "

"Look, it was an accident. I'm sorry I touched your car."

"She's not just a _car._ " He hated the desperate tinge in his own voice. "She's - a really - nice car. It's a nice car, okay?"

"What, you want my insurance info?" The guy rolled his eyes, stepping out of the car. "If you want to make a totally crap claim, I guess--"

He stopped short. For the first time, Axton realized he had rushed out here in nothing but a pair of camo boxer-briefs and a frown, showing off his... well, pretty much everything. He tried not to be one of those braggy jackasses you find at the gym, but he knew he was still bangin' - less razor cut definition and more built for pure strength, sure, and nicked with scars all over, but bangin' nonetheless. As for everything else, well - his junk was kind of just there, drawing the guy's attention like a goddamn magnet.

"Uh, whoops." He tried to play it cool, leaning against the guy's car. "Uh, yeah - watch the car, alright? It's the only thing the old lady didn't take with her."

"What?" The guy snapped back up. "Oh - what? Right! The car. Yeah, totally."

A beat. Axton raised a brow. He then watched the guy lean on the hood of his car and slip, nearly falling over, then come back up with an admirable attempt at cool. He fixed his hair with a dramatic little sweep of his hand.

"I mean, I'll watch the car. If you live here, that's probably the nicest thing you own, right?"

An awkward pause. Axton let the guy internally berate himself for a second before cocking his head, arms crossed.

"Axton." The guy looked up, uncomprehending. Axton offered his hand. "Me. I'm Axton."

"Rhys."

"And this here is Christine." Axton patted the car's hood fondly. "She's my little lady."

"Uh... nice to meet you?" Rhys spoke to the car, unsure, and then glanced back. Nevermind that he wasn't the most physically imposing guy - he had a firm handshake and carried himself well, Axton noticed. "Well, I should probably... get back to all of that. Before they toss all my crap in a pile somewhere annnd light it on fire. Cheap moving company and all. I'll, uh... see you around?"

"Yep." He was in no way showing off when he slid across the hood of his car with ease, heading back to his place. "Probably will."

Safely inside - and safely inside a pair of pants - Axton watched with mild interest as Rhys parked extremely carefully and the rest of the moving got underway. Kid didn't have much. Hopefully he'd settle in well.

And, you know, learn to park.

\---

The next day, he had a visitor. Considering nobody liked him and he didn't particularly like anybody but his car, this was news. He made sure to wear clothes before answering the door to a man with dark hair and bright, bright eyes. Mismatched. What looked like a face over his face. Had he missed some kind of weird fashion trend?

"Axton, right?"

"I told you already - I'm not joining the Church of the Sirens." He took another sip of his drink. Later in the day, it was usually cola with a little bit of something else in it. "And I've been eating sandwiches for a week. Can't really give you food money."

"No and no. Tell you what - I'll take you out for dinner and tell you _all_ about what I'm shilling."

"Not really interested."

"And the sandwiches?"

"I like sandwiches."

The man took a half-second to think. His clothes made it hard to guess where he was from or what he was getting at, but the nice clothes, the great hair, the way he carried himself--

"You're corporate?" Axton raised a brow. "Not Dahl, I'm guessing."

"Sharp. Hyperion."

"And not a general recruiter. Your hair's too great."

He watched the guy _preen,_ pushing his hair back with a flip. His eyes were distracting, and if he were the kind of guy to be affected by that thing, a little intense. Like staring down something out in the Pandoran boonies, big and toothy and mean as hell.

"It is pretty great. Nah, I'm not one of the flyer jockeys. I'm not gonna _brag,_ but I do alright for myself." Vaguely strained at the next few words, he continued. "But I'm not here to talk about me - let's talk about you. Where do you work, guy?"

"You know where I work." This soda needed more rum. "If you're here, you pulled the files. You know where I work, where I live, blood type, past addresses, my shellfish allergy... stuff like that."

"True. Didn't want to come off as creepy, but yeah." He shoved a hand in his pocket. "I know pretty much everything there is to know about you."

"Which you need for...?"

"A proposition. This ain't Hyperion mandate, sweetheart, so don't go shuttin' me down just yet." He was a quick talker. There was hardly any time to interrupt. "You work construction, babe. That's great and all, but that... really sucks, I'm not gonna lie. You're not some ex-con. You're not some junkie on the mend. You're a _soldier._ "

If he noticed the slight twinge in Axton's shoulders, he didn't mention it.

"I'm telling you straight: I just moved up on the corporate ladder and some jackasses at my new job are already trying to kill me. Real pain, you know? I need peace. Maturity. Guys not stuffing bombs in midgets and dropping them on me when I'm giving presentations. Just the little things. I need a bodyguard."

"And you've selected me because of my stunning military record." Another sip. His voice came dull. "Before the whole _kicked out of the army_ thing. You remember that kicked out of the army thing, right? Why not get a guy with a good record?"

"They don't have the experience I need _and_ your skills. One or the other, yeah, but..." He shrugged. "It's not like you killed anybody. We can over look some minor indiscretions. In fact, we may be able to help you with that. _I_ may be able to help you with that."

"And what's the _real_ reason you want me?"

The man's demeanor changed - his smile changed. Leaning up in the doorway, he could cock his hip and lid his eyes and hang his head in a way that showed off plenty of unscarred, finely shaped neck.

"Well, wouldn't say it's a _reason,_ but I wouldn't argue you riding my ass into next week sometime." He clucked his tongue and winked. "Call me."

And then he was done, straightening up, offering a card between middle and forefingers. When did he get that out? Was it up his sleeve? "Buuuut anyway, potential mindblowing sex aside, don't think you've gotta give me an answer right now. Sleep on it. Talk to family and friends about it. Call me. And go buy yourself a nice steak, babe."

That was definitely a hundred bill folded up on the opposite side of the card. Neither of them wanted to go through the whole _oh no, I can't, it's too much_ routine, he knew, and so they didn't - he just watched the man stroll off without a care.

"You didn't give me your name," Axton called after him. He waved a hand in response.

"It's on the card."

It certainly was. Just below the boldly inked Hyperion logo, there was his name. Axton ran a thumb over the raised lettering, tracing the J.

"Jack, huh?"

___

"Vaughn if you don't pick up your phone I'm going to turn my arm into a rocket fist and shoot it at you so I can kick your ass from across the city, oh my _god._ "

Rhys paced around his main room, continuously kicking the same pile of laundry on every pass. The main room was nice, the bedroom was okay, and the rest of the house blew, but he didn't have to think of how sad and alone the place was if he just stayed in those two rooms.

That wasn't on his mind at the moment. The audio recording currently playing from his right palm - that was a different story.

"Dude - _what?_ " Vaughn sounded exasperated. "I was in the _bathroom,_ you didn't have to call like--"

"Handsome Jack is talking to my neighbor," Rhys blurted, and heard dead silence on the end of the line. " _Handsome Jack._ I recorded their conversation."

"You're sure it's--"

" _Yes, Vaughn._ "

"Alright, alright, just - what were they talking about?"

Rhys rewinded the recording and played it in its entirety. It took a few moments for either of them to formulate anything to say.

"This is big, Rhys. Anything with Jack's name on it - I mean really, really big."

"It doesn't make sense." Rhys went on, oblivious. "If he wanted a bodyguard, he'd hire someone Hyperion. Wouldn't have to pay them. He wants something else from this guy, and it isn't screwing him. God, I _knew_ he slept around, the cheating bastard."

"Rhys--"

"I'd be super successful too if I earned my job on my _back--_ "

"Rhys!" Vaughn's voice was sharp enough to bring him back. "Look, I know you've been popping a rage boner for this guy for like, ever. He's Hyperion's darling. The fastest rising star anybody's ever seen. The guy went from peon programmer to head of the whole department in what, two years?"

"Ugh. Don't remind me."

"I'm _saying_ that he moved up that fast for a reason. You know what those reasons are?" His voice snapped higher, mildly hysterical. "Murder! Torture! Backstabbing! Blackmail! General jackassery! And that's just the incidents we're pretty sure he was involved with - you sneeze on the guy and he'll dig your eyes out with his thumbs. Anderson says that if you say his name three times in a mirror, he comes out to strangle you while negging your hair."

"Vaughn, Vaughn. Calm down, man, it's fine." Rhys snapped the audio recording off, sounding ever the calm, cool CEO material he was. "I didn't even _say_ anything yet."

"Look, I know you. I know you want to screw up whatever Jack's up to in some sort of weird, love-hate thing you guys have going on."

"The only thing I love about that man is his taste in cologne, Vaughn." A beat. "And that's on his good days."

" _Not the point._ You want to get involved. We don't _need_ to get involved. Whatever he wants with this beefcake guy - this is the beefcake neighbor, right? You said his abs were 'rippling' and that you wanted to motorboat his pecs?"

"Yes, Vaughn. That guy."

"Whatever he wants, just leave it alone." A beat. " _Please._ "

"Can't let this one go, Vaughn. This could be his big break. This could be _our_ big break."

"Yeah, but we'd have to--"

" _Steal his deal._ " Rhys sounded so satisfied with himself. "We steal his deal."

"Yeah, five seconds before Jack _rips your spine out._ I'm telling you, man, I've got a really bad feeling about this."

"Listen - I won't do anything on my own. Just surveillance, right? That's... disappointingly boring, but safe."

" _Just_ surveillance. We'll talk about it more when we get Yvette on the line, alright?"

"Alright. Yeah. I'll just... surveil. Look, I gotta get back to work. You're not gonna handwring the whole time, right?" No answer. " _Right?_ "

"Yes, _right._ Just... stay safe, Rhys."

Rhys found his way to the window facing Axton's house, idly walking between them until he found the one with an absolutely _perfect_ view into the guy's bedroom. He'd have to get some one-way mesh, maybe a pair of binoculars, but - it'd work. He could hit three windows from this side if he really tried, which meant mapping out two-thirds of the house. He could keep an eye on BigMcLargeHuge over there without drawing attention.

This could work. This could really, really work. Rhys found the bottle of cheap champagne he'd brought over to celebrate with and popped the cork, toasting Axton's house.

"Here's to you, Axton. " A beat. He toasted the street. "And here's to you, Jack. Get that ass ready, because I'm coming for it."


End file.
